


The Two Deaths Of Raphael Santiago

by Polarnacht



Category: The Bane Chronicles - Sarah Rees Brennan & Cassandra Clare & Maureen Johnson, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Raphael Santiago-centric, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polarnacht/pseuds/Polarnacht
Summary: Raphael Santiago is a god-fearing, 15 year old teen when he gets turned into a Vampire - against his will. He struggles with his new state of life, a life he has never wanted or asked for. Magnus Bane steps in and tries to guide him, but the question of whether he has a soul or not follows Raphael through the years - until one moment answers it: the moment when he has to decide if he wants to save himself or Magnus, his mentor and father figure.A story that retells (parts) of "Saving Raphael Santiago" from The Bane Chronicles and "City of Heavenly Fire" through Raphael’s eyes, without having the claim to be 100% accurate. It can also be read without knowing the books.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago
Comments: 15
Kudos: 15
Collections: Pls kill me, September Server Scavenger Hunt 2020





	The Two Deaths Of Raphael Santiago

**Author's Note:**

> Though the story is placed in the book world, you don't need book knowledge to enjoy the story.
> 
> Thank you so much, Jessa, for encouraging me to write this story and your great beta work 💙

**The Two Deaths Of Raphael Santiago**

It was 1953 and a heat wave held New York in an iron grip, making its inhabitants a little dizzy - and a little crazy. The days were too hot to endure, so the people lived for the nights. The heat didn’t slow down much, but at least the merciless sun vanished to make room for the stars and the moon - and the children of the night, who didn’t hold back in the slightest; they too, got a little crazy. They were drunk and high on the sun-warm blood of their victims they found in abundance on the New York streets. The Vampires snatched them away from parties that were held on terraces or the street itself; they took lovers on their romantic strolls between the golden trees in Central Park or simply people on their way home.

Some Vampires, though, liked them younger. They took them out of the windows that were left open to grant the children some relief from the heat, forgetting that more dangerous things hid in the dark than a too hot room could ever be.

The vanishing of children didn’t go unnoticed in Spanish Harlem, the neighborhood where Raphael Santiago grew up with his protective mother among his siblings.

He was 15 years old when his life changed for good. With the hubris of their youth, he and his friends not only saw that something more than shady was going on in their neighborhood. They also decided to do something about it. They were fed up that children of their own vanished to never be seen again - or, sometimes, even more shaking, they reappeared in the middle of the heated nights, seemingly looking the same but changed to the core and with blood-red eyes. 

_“Vampiros,”_ the older women whispered behind their hands, making the sign of the cross, an Ave Maria on their lips. But the cross didn’t protect them. Nothing and nobody did, so Raphael and his friends knew it was up to them. They formed a gang and though Raphael was the youngest, the others listened to him. He was a born leader like rarely people were born to lead. Raphael just wished he was born to lead in different circumstances.

Raphael pressed a last kiss to the golden cross he always wore around his head, a gift from his mother. He was still young, he still believed that there was a god who protected what was his. He gave a sign to his friends and they gathered behind him. They were all armed. Some had managed to find guns, Raphael had no idea where, but he didn’t bother to ask. He had no idea if guns even helped against _los vampiros._ But they had knives too, daggers, wooden sticks. Raphael was still young and he thought they were prepared.

When they entered the run-down house, through the back door they had kicked in, Raphael realized he had been wrong. There was nothing between heaven and earth that could have prepared them for what they were about to see. 

There was nothing inside that house but blood and death. The air was so thick you could choke on it. Sprays of blood were scattered over the walls and,together with bloody hand prints, they created a grotesque pattern. On the floor lay high-piled corpses of teenagers, but also younger ones. The muffled cry from one of his friends, José, startled Raphael. He saw him drop to his knees, cradling one of the corpses. José had found his sister Maria.

A sudden, cruel laugh filled the air and all jerked and grabbed their weapons tighter – except José, who just couldn’t let go of Maria.

“That’s convenient. I don’t even have to go hunting myself now. You’re all a little old, but for tonight you’ll do.” A Vampire stepped into the room, hopping over a body as if it was not there. His face was blood-smeared, his bared fangs shone crimson red, as did his eyes. 

Raphael froze for a moment at the sight, but picked up his courage a second later. “Now!” he screamed, swallowing down the panic and acting like the leader he was. They charged forward, together. The Vampire just threw his head back and laughed. After that, all happened in a blur. The teenage boys were fast, but the Vampire was faster. He was old and powerful and fueled to the brim with human blood.

Raphael tasted blood on his tongue, first the blood of his friends that dropped beside him like flies while the Vampire dashed through them as if they were not even there. But there was just nothing he could do about it, the Vampire was too fast for a human eye to see. Later, Raphael tasted his own blood. With a dark chuckle, the Vampire buried his fangs in Raphael’s throat, his greedy gulps echoing in his ears. He didn’t scream, he was past that. He knew it was his time. It was his time to die. He tried to hold on to his hopes, to pray to the god that had left him the moment he had entered the forsaken house. But he couldn’t. All he managed was to close his fist around the golden cross, the physical memory of protected times in the arms of his mother.

While the swallowing of the Vampire got needier and louder, Raphael felt the life drain out of him little by little. With every gulp he felt weaker, knowing that every swallow brought him a little closer to death. He would like to think of himself as brave but the truth was he was terrified. If the Vampire didn’t have him held in his deadly embrace, his knees would have given in and he would have sunk to the ground. When the metallic taste in his mouth mixed with salt, he knew he had started to cry. 

Raphael couldn’t remember the last time he had cried; he wasn’t a baby anymore. The early fifties in Spanish Harlem weren’t a place where teen boys cried. But maybe it was acceptable now. Maybe when you felt that your soul was sucked out of you, with each breath you took in, it was okay to cry. Suddenly, an even worse fear settled in. He had seen some of the kids who had returned. Red-eyed with sharp teeth, looking just like the thing that was killing him right now. Soulless monsters that only shared the appearance with their former selves. Finally, Raphael started to pray. Not for the monster to spare him, but to kill him. When darkness claimed him, he had the last words of his third Ave Maria on his lips and his hand still curled around his golden cross.

* * *

As so often, his prayers went by unheard. The next time Raphael opened his eyes there was a hunger in him he couldn’t control. An urge that drove him nearly mad. He tried to move but it was impossible, something weighed him down. His hands started to dig without needing to give a command. They just moved even before his mind processed where he was. He was surrounded by darkness, mud was drizzling in his open eyes. Instinctively he knew he was buried deep in holy ground. But he was not afraid. All he felt was the hunger he knew he needed to still at all cost. 

He never stopped digging, ignoring the pain in his hands, which soon got bloody at the knuckles, his fingernails breaking under the impact of the little stones and mud. When one hand finally breached the surface, all Raphael could think of was the need to ease the hunger he felt. The need to drink blood. Fresh, human blood. He didn’t think about the fact that he needed to kill for that. Actually, he couldn’t care less. His hand found the root of a nearby tree and with its help he managed to tear free from his cold grave. When his nose hit fresh air, he wanted to draw in a breath, out of habit, just to be startled by his lack of needing oxygen. He didn’t need to breathe, he didn’t need his heart to beat. He just needed blood.

With the speed only a fledgling could muster, he ran towards the closest source. A beggar on a park bench, who looked as if he hadn’t showered in ages. But Raphael didn’t care for dirt or the stink; to him the man smelled like heaven. Or, maybe better, hell. Even while he was still running, his fangs popped out. The man was so drunk, he didn’t even wake up when Raphael buried his fangs in his neck vein, sucking the last remaining drops of life out of him. Instantly he felt better, but the greed was still all consuming. Blood. He needed more. He needed it now.

His next target was quickly found. A nurse on her way home, who would never make it there. When she dropped down to the ground next to him, a small trickle of blood still running down her throat, Raphael felt better. But just for a moment. Just the tiny seconds until his brain understood what he had done. Until it, until he, understood what he had become: the same soulless monster as the one that had killed his friends. As the one who had turned him into a Vampire.

Without thinking twice, Raphael started to run, faster than ever before in his life. The human blood fueled his system and the rawness to his speed and power was nearly overwhelming. The blood that spread in his body made him dizzy while his feet ran through the hot night of New York, pounding on the asphalt and leading him exactly where he wanted to be. To his dead friends. To the abandoned house. To his sire. He had no idea how long he had been in his grave of dirt and mud; if days had passed or only one night. The heat in the air was still the same. 

He yanked the back door open, through which he had entered with his friends back then, when he had still been young and full of belief and hope. Neither was true any longer. His eyes were gleaming reddish when he followed the call of the blood which led him to his creator. As every fledgling, he was drawn to the Vampire who had made him. He stumbled over José’s corpse, who lay crouched over his sister in a foolish attempt to protect her already dead body. They had all been foolish that night and they had all paid dearly for it, each in their own way. Now it was time for someone else to pay.

Raphael ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He kicked in the door to what must have been the master bedroom, back in the day when this had still been a house and not a nightmare.

The old Vampire hummed, pleased when Raphael crashed into the room, tossing aside the nearly lifeless boy that had been sitting on his lap. The boy moaned softly but stayed otherwise unmoving on the floor.

“Me llamo Louis. Ven aquí, mijo,” the Vampire commanded in Spanish with a heavy accent, as if Raphael didn’t understand English perfectly. _Mijo._ My boy. Raphael was many things, but definitely not the boy of this monster. But he would come over to the Vampire, even though in a different way than he had meant.

“Are you stupid?” Raphael all but hissed at the Vampire before he charged at him, his fangs bared, his eyes gleaming a shade darker than before and his hands curled into claws. His own strength still surprised Raphael - and the old Vampire as well. Louis had not expected his attack at the slightest, so he just stood there, still a little dizzy from the boy’s blood when Raphael’s body collided with his own. Raphael screamed with all the despair and fury he felt while he surged forward. With a dull thud, they both crashed to the floor. While Raphael punched Louis with one hand, he searched frantically on the floor with the other for anything to stab the older Vampire with. When his fingertips brushed over a sharp item, he yelped in excitement. He closed his fist around it and, nearly effortlessly, he drove the sharp stick into Louis’ heart, who still wore an expression of utmost shock and disbelief on his face. 

The look stayed until his whole body dissolved into dust and ashes, starting from his heart, where Raphael had stabbed him. The moment the Vampire vanished, all strength left Raphael, leaving him laying boneless on the floor, until he at least mustered the courage to crawl to the next wall, scoop up and hug himself tightly. 

This was how Magnus Bane found him, crouched against a wall and with a whimpering, dying boy at his feet. Raphael’s mother had asked Magnus to find Raphael and save him – not knowing that he was long past saving.

“Are you Raphael?” the Warlock asked the dying child on the floor, at first not noticing the Vampire in the back. Raphael huffed out a laugh.

“Raphael is dead.” And he meant it. Raphael had had a soul. He had breathed, his heart had been beating. Raphael had believed. The thing he was now, had neither a soul nor needed or could do any of these things.

His eyes found Magnus, the kind expression in them not making him feel better, but worse. He didn’t need pity. The first rays of sunshine started to flood the room, turning the nightmare into a dark daydream. Before Raphael could think, his body already reacted. He threw himself at the light. But Magnus was faster. He caught him before he could burn, embracing the sobbing teen until his body went limp.

Even years later, Raphael was not sure if he was thankful for that, though he had never attempted to take his life again. Magnus had taken him in, giving him a home when Raphael had thought he had lost everything. He had seen his family again, even wearing the golden cross his mother had gifted him. He bore a cross-shaped scar on his chest and it had cost him a lot of pain and training to be able to do so, but the look on his mother’s face when she saw him wearing it had evened it all out.

With the years that passed, Raphael attuned to his new life as a Vampire. He even became the clan leader of New York, one of the most influential clans in the US. But he never truly accepted his new life. He never felt really alive again, and he still struggled with the question of whether or not he had a soul. He wasn’t able to answer this question until many years later.

* * *

The heat was the same. This time, it wasn’t the heat of a hot late summer in New York though. This time, it was the heat of Edom that drove everyone slowly insane. Raphael glowered at his two cell inmates. Luke and Magnus. They all had been so stupid to let themselves be caught by Jonathan – the real, demonic Jonathan Morgenstern, not the fluffly Jace Herondale version – and trapped in Edom.

Magnus was sick and got sicker with every day that passed. The power that ran through Edom weakened him, connecting in a strange way with the magic he had inherited from his father. Even though Raphael would never admit it, it pained him to see Magnus like that. Magnus who had been a father to him when he hadn’t wanted one but had been in desperate need for one. But he couldn’t submit to this pain. So instead, he glowered at them, pretending he was annoyed by their whines about their loved ones and their foolish hopes to be rescued.

Luke ran up and down their cell, his inner wolf reacting poorly to being encaged in a tiny room. Magnus just lay on a cot in the corner of the cell, not moving at all. Raphael couldn’t tell what he found more disturbing.

“Clary will come. I know she will.” Luke had said that before, holding on to that belief. Luke hoped for Clary to save them, Magnus for his Alexander – though strictly speaking, Alexander was no longer his. They had broken up and Raphael doubted that any of them would come. He just huffed.

“Los cazadores de sombras nunca salvan a nadie” He muttered in Spanish, an old habit he had never lost. _Shadowhunters have never saved anyone_. He just had to look at himself. They needed to save themselves, as Downworlders always had saved themselves - or died trying. Or just as anyone. There was no god that came to your rescue. There were no Shadowhunters who risked their lives for yours. They just had themselves.

When the door to their cell opened, Luke paused in his pacing, Magnus managed to sit up and Raphael continued to glare. Just a little more intense. Jonathan Morgenstern stepped into their cell, carrying the usual maniacal smile that always played around his lips. Magnus tried to stand, but the enchanted chains that sat tightly around his wrists to hinder him from using his magic were too short to allow him to do so. He was bound to look up at Jonathan.

Jonathan watched all three of them closely before his eyes fixated on Raphael, who slowly rose to his feet, a mask of indifference on his face.

“Raphael Santiago. You’re the leader of the New York Vampire clan. I have an offer for you. The Shadowhunters have treated your kind poorly, very poorly. They put you on a leash like the dog this one is." He gestured derogatorily towards Luke before he continued. "I make you an offer. You know I will win this war, don’t you, Raphael? Stand by my side and I will unleash you. You’ll be able to feed yourselves again from the only acceptable source. Real humans. You will take your place in the hierarchy of the Shadow World that is worthy of your race. You will no longer have to bow to mundanes or dogs or warlocks.”

A small smile tugged on Raphael’s lips. He had known it all along, he had to save himself. Himself and the ones that trusted him as their leader. Lily Chen. His whole Vampire Clan. It took him only a second to come to a conclusion.

“This sounds like a reasonable offer to me. I’ll take it.” He stepped forward, ignoring the huffs of outrage from Luke and the pleading sigh from Magnus.

But Jonathan didn’t overhear the pleading sigh. With a curious, cruel smile he looked back and forth between Raphael and Magnus, the smile deepening when he made up his mind. 

“Very well, Raphael Santiago. Very well. But we need to seal our deal. And as I don’t do handshakes, we will seal it with blood. Kill the Warlock to show me you truly mean what you say. Now.” With a devilish grin, Jonathan handed Raphael a knife which Raphael took reluctantly. He was not used to handling real weapons. Vampires were their own weapons, with their sharp fangs and nails.

“Raphael,” Magnus whispered hoarsely, the softness in his voice making Raphael turn immediately. With unsteady steps he moved towards Magnus, his fingers tightening around the hilt. Magnus looked up at him, his eyes without worry or concern. Just filled with love.

“I saved you once,” Magnus said, his eyes never leaving Raphael’s.

“I never wanted to be saved,” Raphael gave back while he stepped closer, yet his voice was trembling. But while saying it, he knew it to be true. Magnus had saved him. And he didn’t mean the saving when he had hindered him to jump into daylight. Magnus had saved him in different ways, in ways that counted so much more. He had given him a home, he had given him his family back when he thought he would never be able to see them again. He had told him countless times that he had a soul. He had never believed it. But now, when his fist tightened around the knife even more, he felt it was true. He still had a soul.

“Papá,” he whispered lowly, so low not even Jonathan picked it up. Magnus was nearly in his reach now. One step closer and the knife would find its way in Magnus' heart. 

“Mijo.” Magnus tried to reach out to him, but was held back by the chains. But the smile they exchanged that conveyed their love for each other counted more than anything else.

The first time death had claimed him, Raphael had been too young to die. Now, Raphael felt he was too old to live. He was ready. This time, he was prepared. The hand not holding the dagger came up to grip his cross. He didn’t believe in god anymore, but he believed in dying. With a silent prayer on his lips, he turned around, praying that this time he’d be allowed to stay dead.

“Kill him. Now.” Jonathan’s voice was cutting, a voice that was used to being obeyed.

Raphael threw the knife at his feet.

“No.” It was the last word he would ever speak. 

“You’re a disappointment, Raphael Santiago. You truly are.” 

With a growl Jonathan picked up the knife and without further ado plunged it into Rapahel’s heart, too fast for anyone to see. Raphael heard Magnus’ scream. He himself didn’t scream. Raphael died with a smile on his lips, knowing he still had a soul, knowing he was not the monster he had feared himself to be for so long. He died with his mother’s cross in his hand while he dissolved into smoke. He knew this time it would last. This time, Raphael was allowed to die for real. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are loved 💙


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